


Breaking All The Rules

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fuckbuddies, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://such-heights.dreamwidth.org/419038.html">Female Character Trope Fest</a>.  Prompt: Lydia/Stiles, fuckbuddies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking All The Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just porn.
> 
> Title from Madonna - Human Nature.

**Get over here, Stiles, I’m starting without you.**

Lydia smirks and switches her phone off. If he gets it, he’ll be here and if not, well, she has all sorts of toys under her bed.

She’s not quite sure when this happened, somewhere between Jackson abandoning her and Stiles backing off with his borderline creepy obsession with her, she and Stiles became friends. Because, well, werewolves. Then, a few days into senior year, she’d made an offhand comment about not getting laid during the summer break and Stiles had—he’d smirked. And that had intrigued her.

Now, they have a thing. They don’t date, they don’t do anything outside of a bedroom. And her car. And once at the movie theatre bathroom, but that was a special occasion involving both of them getting over excited while watching Chris Evans. Neither of them could help that.

She’s been borderline horny all day and now she just needs something, anything, to get off. Lydia strips her blouse and skirt off and inches up the bed in her underwear. She rests her hand against her covered crotch, strokes a finger against herself through her panties, just to take the buzz off. Lydia’s cupping one of her breasts through her bra when Stiles comes through her bedroom door and she smirks.

“Hi,” he says, already kicking his sneakers off.

“You took your time,” she replies, running a hand down her stomach, teasing the tips of her fingers at the waistband of her thong. Stiles is pulling his t-shirt off and she takes the opportunity to sit up, unclasping her bra and dropping it on the floor. He groans when he sees her, running his fingers through his hair.

“Jesus, Lyds.”

“Get over here.”

Stiles crawls onto the bed and plasters his body against her, kissing her softly. His jeans are rough against her bare legs and when her breasts press against his chest, she gasps against his mouth. He grins, reaching a hand between them to tease at her nipples, rubbing his fingers against them until her nails dig into his shoulder. “You want me somewhere?” he says with a smirk in his voice.

“Fuck you, Stiles.”

“Later,” he whispers. “Pretty sure you want my mouth elsewhere.”

Lydia falls back against her pillow, hair splayed, and she opens her legs as Stiles crawls down her body. She swears softly when he presses his mouth against the wet fabric, his tongue tracing patterns against her. He hooks his fingers in the sides of her thong and slowly drags it down, kissing down her legs as he strips it off her. Stiles stares at her until she huffs impatiently and raises an eyebrow. “Well?” she says, knocking her foot against his thigh. He laughs and makes his way back between her legs.

Stiles licks against her labia, teasing her with careful touches, his fingers lightly stroking her inner thighs as he spreads her legs, inching closer until she can feel his nose right up against her pubic bone. Lydia’s lazily running her hands across her breasts, pinching at her nipples the way she likes, enough to keep her present, not enough to distract her from Stiles’ wicked mouth.

He’s going slow, and part of her just wants him to work her clit until she comes, but she knows he likes this, likes being able to keep her on edge, likes being able to wring her orgasm out of her. And she likes it as well. Jackson never did this. Jackson never went down on her just because she wanted it, never treated her like her pleasure was as important as his. She’d just put up with it, thinking teenage boys are selfish, but then—Stiles. Sometimes he doesn’t even care that she doesn’t always return it. She has given him blow jobs, she’s given him fucking amazing blow jobs where he’s been squirming, sweating and constantly two seconds off shooting his load. It just never seems to be important to him. Which is fine by her.

Stiles holds her open, starts pressing his tongue inside her, little darts that make her pussy clench against nothing but air. She lets out a groan of frustration when Stiles backs off and she feels his laughter against her skin. “I will kick you in the head,” she says, her breathing laboured already.

“No you won’t,” he says smugly, and fuck him, because he’s right. She won’t. Not until he’s made her come. Lydia pushes herself onto her elbows and looks down at Stiles, his mouth is slick and he meets her eyes, licking his lips. She waves a hand at him and flops back on the bed.

“Ohhh,” she moans when he pushes a finger inside her. “Fuck,” she bites her lip as he leans down and flicks his tongue across her clit once, crooking his finger slightly.

Lydia rocks up into it, her hips rolling off the bed as Stiles slips another finger inside her. He moves his tongue away from her clit, licking around his fingers as he thrusts them in and out. The muscles in her thighs tense as she tries to get Stiles to move faster, his long, clever fingers curling inside her. She’s getting wetter, her body heating up and she yelps when Stiles removes his fingers before pushing three of them back in. “Oh god,” she breathes out, her nipples hard and sensitive as she runs her fingers against them. “I swear to god, if you don’t get your mouth on my clit now, I will kill you.”

“Patience, Lyds, patience,” Stiles says. Lydia can feel his lips just grazing her clit as he talks and she’s about to push her hips up when his free hand clasps her hip, holding her in place. She swears loudly, a sob escaping from her mouth when he fucks his fingers into her just the right side of too rough, pressing his tongue against her clit and darting the tip of it against her over and over again. She’s losing herself in this, her world reduced to the feel of herself clenching around Stiles’ fingers, his tongue working her clit until her hands are twisting in the sheets, her chest heaving with each breath.

Lydia cries out when Stiles digs his fingers into her hip, his tongue circling her clit as his fingers thrust into her and she just needs him to— _yes. Fuck. Yes._. Her mouth is open in a silent cry and she’s dimly aware of her legs spasming as Stiles gently removes his fingers, placing an open mouthed kiss against her still sensitive clit. Stiles crawls up her body and rests his head against her breasts, his fingers splayed across her stomach. He turns his head and grins against her skin as she regains her breath.

“You can stop being smug anytime soon, Stiles,” she laughs.

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” he says, fingers tapping a pattern against her stomach.

She slaps them away and stretches. “You know where the condoms are.”

Stiles rolls off the bed and opens one of her jewellery boxes, takes a condom out and throws it on the bed. He slips out of his pants and rolls his eyes when she raises an eyebrow at him going commando, saying, “It’s a booty call, Lyds, why would I put underwear on?”

Lydia shrugs, a smile on her face. He has a point. Stiles kneels on the bed and unwraps the condom, rolling it down his cock. If he hadn’t just got her off, she’d climb on top of him, relish in the way he reaches his hands up to touch her body as she rides him. But she’s feeling lazy, unsure that her legs will even take her attempting to climb on him. Stiles still has a smug look on his face when she tells him that and she lets him bask in it. He is _very_ good at getting her off. She rolls onto her side and he takes the hint, slotting in behind her.

Stiles hitches her leg up and guides his cock inside her. She breathes out at the pressure, the relief of something solid and thick between her legs and rolls on her back slightly, Stiles’ arm hooked under her leg, stretching out the already sore muscles in her thighs, as he pushes in. He’s breathing hotly against her face, lips wet, his chest a firm line against her side, hips pushed up against her ass. “Okay?” he asks. He always asks that when he fucks her after she’s already come. Lydia nods and he starts to thrust into her slowly, giving her time to adjust until she shoves her ass up against him and tells him to fuck her like he means it.

Lydia grins when he laughs against her neck and starts to move his hips faster, letting her leg drop over his thigh as he wraps an arm underneath her, pulling her up, his hand cupping her breasts. She wonders what he’s doing when he slides his hand down between her legs, rubbing at her clit teasingly as he fucks into her again and again. The bed is shaking with his thrusts, the sheets underneath them crumpled as she twists her fingers in the fabric. Her hair is matted with sweat, and she can hear the slapping noise of flesh on flesh echoing in the room; their heavy breathing and soft swearing the only other sounds.

Stiles’ mouth is open against her neck, and when his hips stutter in their relentless rhythm, she can tell he’s close. He whispers against her skin, tells her to come as he rubs her clit, thrusts into her and holds himself still inside her until she comes, her cunt clenching around his cock, her body squirming as his hands clutch at her. Lydia’s barely aware when he resumes fucking her, only just notices when his teeth scrape against her neck as he comes, balls pressed against her ass, his body shaking behind her.

“Fuck,” he pants, attempting to catch his breath. Stiles pulls out, holding the condom at the base of his cock and collapses onto the bed. Lydia twists around until she’s laying on her stomach, her head turned to the side as she watches him sit up and remove the condom, tying it off and dropping it in the trashcan by her bed.

“Thanks,” she says, reaching an arm out to pat him on the leg.

Stiles laughs and leans over, kissing her hair. “Anytime, Lyds. Anytime.”


End file.
